


Words

by vwright



Category: Ylvis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-06
Packaged: 2018-03-02 05:25:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2801168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vwright/pseuds/vwright
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They called them your “words”. And everyone had them. UPDATE: publishing the drafted chapters unfinished bc I'm not gonna revisit this...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt:
> 
> "Soulmates AU where the first words your soulmate ever says to you are tattooed somewhere on your body"
> 
> Disclaimer: The events, characters, and entities depicted in this work are fictional. Any resemblance or similarity to any actual events, entities, or persons, whether living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

They called them your “words”. And everyone had them. They’d show up in vague, raised or discolored lines somewhere on your body when you were little and they’d never go away. Some people had them big and obvious, like on their neck or their knuckles, saying something ridiculous like _three fifty, please_. It was embarrassing, if it was someplace people could see it. You’d find out what kind of person you were—liked or unliked—based on whether people said it to you constantly or made a point to never say it at all.

It wasn’t like people always ended up with their Speaker. Sometimes it’d be someone honking at you in traffic, or saying excuse me as they shuffled past your seat in a movie theater. Lots of times people ended up alone, or with somebody else. It was actually considered extremely romantic to willingly spend the rest of your life with someone that wasn’t your Speaker. There was a whole modern school of thought, one that first shunned the word “soulmate” and changed it to something less melodramatic, and then went on to reject the idea of words and Speakers altogether. Fuck destiny. People got them removed all the time, or altered to say whatever it was their boyfriend or girlfriend had first said to them. But in reality, the temptation was usually too great, to go on knowing there was someone more perfect out there. Someone  _for_  you. The life expectancy of a relationship with a non-Speaker usually maxed out at three to five years. 

But whoever you were, whatever you thought, your words were personal, and important. Your Speaker was real. And they were waiting. 

 

Bård’s words came in as faint white etchings on the inside of his left little finger when he was three. He thinks, anyway, his were always so discreet he wasn’t sure if that’s when they first showed up or just when he first noticed. All they spelled were “Hello, Bård” - the circle on top of the å barely visible.

Vegard burned his off in an accident with a hot stovetop only six months after he got them. His parents hadn’t even managed to get a look at them yet when it happened. He was a late bloomer, and knew full well by then what words were and what they meant. He was also old enough to know that you didn’t have to show anyone if you didn’t want to. Bård wondered sometimes if Vegard did it on purpose. If he willingly traded the key to completion for a dark band of smooth scarred flesh on his forearm. He doubted it. Who wouldn’t want to know?

* * *

"You really don’t remember what they said?" Bård leaned his upper body on Vegard’s bed, his brother putting on socks beside him.

"No, Bård."

"But how could you forget? You were like, 6, right?" 

"Five," he corrected. Vegard shifted his eyes to Bård’s expression, that caught the hint of truth he’d always been digging at. He recovered as smoothly as possible. "But that was 12 years ago, Bård. And I didn’t have them for very long."

"So what? I would remember if I only had them for a day. For an hour."

"I guess I just didn’t care that much." Vegard walked to his closet, pulling out his sneakers and dropping them back at the foot of the bed. He sat down again, closer to Bård this time.

"Bullshit." Bård stared at Vegard’s forearm, now very close to him, trying to make out any remnants of letters beneath the stroke of dark pink. He couldn’t see anything. He reached his fingertips out, centimeters from brushing his brother’s skin. Maybe it was like braille, the words hiding in invisible ridges just under the surface.

Vegard turned to his brother suddenly, pausing with a shoe in his hand and eyes gazing straight into Bård’s. “Don’t you think you’d know them by now if I actually remembered?”

There was something else there, something else Vegard was saying that Bård understood on some blanketed level of his consciousness but couldn’t quite unbury yet. All he could do was swallow, shift his eyes down after prolonged seconds and cough out “I don’t know.”

"Besides," Vegard turned away. "You should be focusing on your own words. Any idea who your Speaker might be yet?"

Bård rolled his face into the mattress and groaned in frustration. “Ugh. No. It could be anybody! I’m not always paying attention when people say hello to me!” That was a lie. As Bård aged he grew hyperaware of the way people greeted him, during every introduction, every time he walked into some store or restaurant with staff he didn’t know. He only paid with cash, never the credit card his parents gave him for emergencies or anything he’d need ID for. He found he didn’t want people to know his name. He was waiting. Holding out for something better.

Vegard chuckled at his brother and began tying his other shoe. “You could have met them already, you know. Have you thought about that?”

Bård thought of all the people he’d gone to school with, teachers, people at their dad’s work, kids who lived down their street. He scrunched up his face in disgust. “God I really hope not.”

Vegard finished pulling on his parka but his face had frozen with Bård’s words. Bård was going to apologize—he didn’t really know what for—when Vegard got up and smoothed out his jacket. 

"Don’t worry," he said, reaching over and patting Bård’s hand on the bed with an open palm. He might’ve lingered, or maybe Bård was imagining it. "Some pretty girl is still out there just waiting to say hello to you."

He headed for his bedroom door, grabbing a scarf off the hook on the wall. Bård propped himself up on his elbows, watching his brother tie the cloth around his neck.

"What about you? You think you’ll meet your Speaker when you’re out tonight?"

Vegard smiled. “That’s the beauty of it, Bård. I don’t have to think about it.”

"Don’t you though?"

Vegard turned back to look at Bård, the oak wood of the doorway framing him. He was getting taller but Bård was too, and faster. He liked to think sometimes about the day when he’d be the same height as his brother, every feature of their faces lining up—ears, eyes, nose, mouth.

A car honked twice outside and Vegard crossed the room to peer out the window. He waved and mouthed something to the people in their driveway. 

"Alright, see you later Bård," he called, leaving Bård in the stuffy room, wool blanket getting scratchy under the pressure of his elbows.

"Bye," he responded. He looked around the room, intrigued by the possibility of being alone with his brother’s belongings.

"And get out of my room! I don’t want you hanging out in there," a voice echoed from the hallway. Bård groaned and got off the bed, stomping along the carpet to his own bedroom again.


	2. Chapter 2

Bård's face pressed against the hardwood floor, the weight bearing down on him starting to dig his skin into the cracks between the floorboards.

"Get off!" he said through squished cheeks. The knee in the center of his back only dug in more, and his brother laughed joyously above.

"Say please," Vegard taunted. Bård gritted his teeth and groaned, but he couldn't even kid himself. He was fighting hard against a smile despite the pain. His right arm was twisted behind his back but Vegard didn't pull very hard. He knew not to hurt him. And that's where Bård had the advantage.

In a swift movement he slipped his arm from his brother's grasp and shoved the knee off him enough to turn over. In a flurry of slapping hands and pulling limbs, it wasn't long until the older brother was now firmly pressed against the floor. Bård's knees straddled his torso and he held his arms at the elbow, pinning Vegard down and smiling.

Only five minutes earlier they were sitting side by side on the piano bench, harmonizing to their favorite christmas carol despite it being the middle of August. Then it was a purposely sour note from Bård, a jab in the ribcage from Vegard, two shoves and a kick before they ended up on the floor. It was becoming a common occurance as of late. Vegard was four months back from the army and Bård thought it might have been the best four months of his life so far. For whatever reason.  

Vegard breathed hard underneath his brother, his mouth shut in a straight line. He glared up at Bård who only giggled. He felt Vegard's arms relax under his grasp as he gave up the fight. _Complete surrender_ , Bård thought, and was pleased.

Bård usually instigated their tussles, and he'd only given vague thought as to why he felt compelled to start them. In moments of peace or companionship with his older brother he often felt an itch under his skin, urging him to do something. Make it more, whatever "it" was, and however that could be done. Slowly he noticed that the highest moments of comfort and security left him floundering inside, suddenly self conscious of his every move, word, the placement of his body, and his brother's. These acute pangs of discomfort were chased away when he acted on instinct, which apparently meant tackling his brother, or play-hurting him in some way. When he was hitting him, grabbing him, touching him, little shots of happiness crawled up the back of his neck and spread across the expanse of his scalp. Then he felt good again. It was like he could only feel the solidity of his self when he had something to push against.

He tightened his grip on Vegard's arms despite complete lack of resistance. "Do you concede?" he asked.

"Ugh, sure, whatever, just get off of me." Vegard lifted his hands to grab the arms that held him down. "You're too heavy," he feigned a grunt.

"Oh really?" Bård quirked an eyebrow before dropping his chest and the entire weight of his body down onto his brother. It knocked the wind from Vegard's chest, flattening his back against the floor until he began to laugh. Bård's cheek brushed against his brother's, and he felt the vibrations of Vegard's heaving ribcage carry through his torso. His skin felt hot against the parts that Bård touched but maybe it was just himself, he couldn't tell.

"Ok, please. Off. Now," Vegard mustered at last with a strained voice.

"Can't. Dead." Bård's mouth was right beside his brother's head but he angled his lips to the floor instead of the shell of his ear.

"But I conceded!" Vegard whined.

"Concession not accepted."

Bård's cheeks hurt he was smiling so hard, and he felt a zen calm settle into his bones. He actually did feel heavy, and only got heavier as his brother seemed to relax into the floor himself, issuing a sigh through his nose.

In a simultaneous move Bård quirked his head toward Vegard's when his brother jerked his head to Bård's jaw and clamped down on his skin. Bård yelped and in an instant rolled himself off of Vegard. Too shocked to move, Bård lay still with wide eyes as his brother got up from the floor and smiled down at the lanky boy below. Bård found the ability to think again, and raised his hand to touch the small indents in his skin where teeth had been.

"Ow," he yelled, in a thirty seconds too-late reaction. Vegard's grin only widened. "Biting isn't allowed." 

"It is now."

"Says who?" Bård pouted.

"Says me, _The Adult_." 

Bård rolled his eyes and scoffed. He hadn't seen Vegard through most of his 18th year, and so when 19 rolled around, he felt it necessary to lord his elder status over Bård whenever possible.  

"Come on," Vegard kicked Bård's ankle with his sneaker when he continued to lay on the floor. "Do you want me to run lines with you?"

"Ugh, no." Bård threw his arms over his eyes, overwhelmed at just the thought of the memorization he had yet to accomplish. 

"Too bad, get your script." He walked away and Bård only uncovered his eyes a sliver in time to see his brother cross through the threshold into the stairwell.

It wasn't even that he was bad at memorizing his lines, but the boredom of it, the repetition, the tediousness... Most aspects of preparing for performances filled Bård with unidentifiable dread--with the exception of actual rehearsal. Though it wasn't so bad when he thought of it now. Vegard probably knew some memory trick that would help him get it done in half the time. And besides, it held the promise of more opportunities of goofing off with his brother--the predominant activity of his summer. He ascended the carpeted steps and knew that oddly, it was the most valuable use of his time.

* * *

"You're worse at this than I am," Bård said before smacking his brother's arm with a pillow from the bed they rested on. Vegard lay on his back, the stapled script folded in half as he held it above his head with his arm up in the air. A gray, square shadow fell on half of his brother's face and Bård smacked him again, since the first time elicited zero reaction. "Aren't you supposed to be good at brain stuff like this?"

"I never said I was good at this, you just made that assumption. And besides, why would I care about memorizing _your_ lines? They're your lines. I don't have to waste brain space on it."

"That's extremely unhelpful, Vegard. The least you could do is memorize them out of solidarity."

"Fuck off." Vegard swooped his hand down and slapped the top of Bård's head with the script. The thwack of the thick stack hurt more than he or Vegard likely anticipated, and he hid the hurt behind a mock-scowl. "Ok, take it again," Vegard ordered. Bård dropped his head back on the mattress and looked up to his brow for the foggy lines to recite.

"My brother marches on Agammemnon's army tomorrow morning, and I... I will join him?"

" _And we will face the great Achilles_. C'mon, Bård, we've done this scene like six times already." 

"I know, okay, just give me the line again."

The performance was less than two weeks away, and he was nervous. His drama teacher had written an original musical-comedy adaptation of _The Iliad_ , which Bård thought was an odd choice, but auditioned anyway. It was the first time he'd been cast in a big part, front and center stage instead of a shadowed ensemble cast member. He remembered how happy he felt when he stared at the cast list pinned on a bulletin board outside his classroom. _Bård Ylvisåker..........Paris of Troy_. Vegard told him he was being typecast: the pretty doofus who fucks everything up for everyone. He'd at least be fucking things up for himself, if he couldn't get his lines memorized in time. He closed his eyes and wrung his hands together while Vegard fed him his cue.

"My brother marches on Agammemnon's army tomorrow morning, and I..." Bård opened his eyes and sighed. The line wasn't coming. "And I fucking hate this stupid play and hope Homer died a miserable ancient death."

"Why don't you stop rubbing your finger and concentrate?"

Bård looked down at where his brother's eyes rested on his hands. He hadn't even noticed how his right-hand fingers smoothed over and caressed the soft skin of his little finger. He did it absently, frequently, and was confused by the traces of bitterness lingering in Vegard's voice.

"I am concentrating. This helps me concentrate."

"Well I doubt the director will allow you your little nervous-stroking while you're supposed to be playing a Trojan prince."

"I'm not going to do it during the play, leave me alone." Bård resumed his motion, slowing over each ridge of the letters. He stared defiance back at his brother who rolled his eyes and stared back up at the ceiling.

"You know you really shouldn't do that in front of people."  

The chastising tone made Bård huff a chuckle.

"Why, because I'm not supposed to show people my words?"

"It's just awkward."

"Why?" Bård sat up on his elbows and leaned closer to Vegard. 

"It just is. It puts too much pressure on people."

"What pressure? To find new and creative ways to say hi to me?"

"No, it's not--Whatever. You don't get it. You will when you're older."

Bård sighed loudly, knowing that arguing his maturity wouldn't get him anywhere. He had the suspicion that Vegard only said that to make him angry, so saying something just to piss him off in return would only be fair.

"You're just jealous." 

Vegard turned his head to Bård and grimaced. "I _am not_ jealous."

"Yeah, sure, ok." Bård brought his little finger closer to his face, making a show of inspecting his words.

Vegard hesitated in his retort, and Bård had the uneasy feeling that maybe he hit on an ounce of truth. "You know I don't care about that stuff," he said at last.

"And you know I don't believe you," Bård said, holding his brother's eye contact. "You don't even try to look, do you?"

"It doesn't matter for me--" 

"Just because your words are gone doesn't mean you don't have a Speaker."

"Come on--"

"And you're someone's Speaker too. I can't believe that you just don't give a shit."

Vegard smacked the script down on the bed, his other hand balled into a fist. "Jesus Christ, Bård, why do you care so much?"

"Why don't you?"

"Because it's not up to me." He mimicked Bård's posture, sitting up halfway and glaring back at him. "Whoever my Speaker is, I'll never have any way of knowing. I have to wait until someone tells me that I said the right thing. So excuse me if I don't want to obsess over every word I say, constantly looking at people's reactions for some kind of recognition. Always wondering if I finally managed to find them." He kept his eyes fixed lower than Bård's face, more around his little brother's throat. "And it's not like they'd even tell me if I did. It's like your words, Bård. It could be anything." He raised his gaze, and Bård swallowed down his surprise. "And since I don't have mine, whoever I'm with will constantly worry that maybe they made the wrong choice. That their speaker is still out there and I'm just some fucked up coincidence. A mistake."

That confirmed it, in Bård's mind. He knew something happened when Vegard was away, something he refused to tell him about. There were gaping holes in his stories, anecdotes that seemed far too boring even for Vegard to find entertaining enough to tell. Bård didn't question the muted undertone to Vegard's being when he returned, only pegged it down to "growing up" or maybe something more sinister that the army had put him through. But this seemed more likely. Maybe that's where his intuiton to engage and revive his brother came from, his need to shove himself in Vegard's space and make him laugh no matter what. The thought of his brother loving someone and then them tossing him aside actually sickened Bård in the depths of his stomach. Weirdly, it took him a second to acknowledge that the second half was the part that was so bad.  

Neither could handle the vulnerability of staring into each other's eyes for very long. Bård glanced up at Vegard's face that turned stoic after his confession, all traces of the hurt buried again under the guise of apathy. But Bård felt the weight of it. It sunk the mattress down in the space between their bodies and Bård wanted nothing more than to toss it away. "Shit," he uttered. Bård felt younger, like realizing it's the earth that turns away from the sun each night, and not the other way around.  

"Yeah," Vegard replied after a moment. He scratched at a hangnail on his thumb while Bård tried to gather the words for an apology. 

"Vegard, I'm sorry--"

"It's fine, drop it." He waved his hand at Bård. "I'm not trying to feel sorry for myself."

"I know. I get it."

Vegard looked at him, a mirthless smirk stuck to his mouth. It was like he was saying thank you, but Bård didn't want it. He would rather tell his brother that no one deserved him, not even his Speaker, if they doubted for a second that Vegard was the right choice. He was worth six lifetimes of uncertainty, maybe more.

Thrown by his sudden surge of inner sentimentality, Bård coughed into his fist and sat up straight. Vegard pushed himself back so he leaned against the headboard and brought the script into his lap.   

"Do you want to skip to the Hector and Paris scene?" he asked Bård.

"Yes please." Bård scooted into position beside his brother as he flipped through the pages to a spot 3/4 of the way through. Bård watched Vegard's eyes scan the page, looking for the best place to start. He focused his eyes and turned to his brother, whose short golden hair grazed the cloth on his shoulder.

"Do I need to read through Hector's monologue? It has like a hundred weirdo names in it."

"Yes, it helps me get into the scene."

"Ugh," Vegard threw his head back against the light oak. "Fine. _Brother, this war needs to end. If Achilles returns to battle there is no hope left for Troy..._ " 

Bård had no lines of his own until a page and a half later, and let his head rest against his brother's arm as he followed along.

" _Our people are weary, the kingdom is in ruins. It's time you took responsibility for this mess you've created._ Hey, this sounds familiar. I think I like this Hector guy."

"Shut up." Bård kicked the leg beside his. Vegard chuckled and Bård let his leg lay pressed against him.

" _Each night my wife_ \--oh god, here we go-- _Andro-mashay?_ OW." Vegard whipped his head to his right, staring wide-eyed at his little brother as he pulled his teeth away from the soft flesh on his forearm. "What the fuck, Bård?"

"An-drom-uh-key," Bård answered, adding on a smug smile. Vegard narrowed his eyes at his little brother and sighed, then turned back to the page.

" _AN-DROM-UH-KEY_ ," he shouted into Bård's ear, " _begs me not to return to the battlefield. But the Greeks will not stop until the king is appeased. Mean-louse_ \--Ah!"

Bård bit down harder that time, doing little to hide his mischievous glee when Vegard faced him. "Men-eh-lay-us." His brother elbowed his side, but Bård noticed the way his skin broke out in goosebumps all over. He nipped him a few more times, when Vegard mispronounced Odysseus and Aphrodite, even though he was pretty sure his brother already knew how to say those. On the last few Bård grazed his tongue along his brother's flesh--just for a fraction of a second--cataloging the faint, indescribable taste.

" _...she may be your prize, but the true husband of_ \--oh thank god, this one's easy-- _Helen_ ," Vegard enunciated the name triumphantly, but Bård clamped each incisor and canines into his brother's arm anyway. He flattened his tongue against his skin but Vegard couldn't tell, he was too distracted by the pain and shock. "Hey! I got that one right, what was that for?"

Bård shrugged back. He really didn't know what it was for, only that he enjoyed far too much getting a rise out of his brother, and feeling how his skin heated up a little more each time his lips touched it. Vegard looked like he was going to say something else, and he only began to recognize the faint pink rising on his older brother's cheeks when Vegard grunted, slapping the open script over his face and leaned his head back.

Bård laughed, and lightly punched his brother's arm, feeling he had exhausted the biting tactic. "Come on, finish."

Vegard issued an indiscernible whine. "I'm too tired." 

"So you want to sleep with a script on your face?"

"Yes," Vegard muttered, the flat paper muffling his voice.

"Fine. But you're going to finish helping me later."

"Mmhmm." Vegard's voice got quieter, and Bård sunk his head closer into his brother's arm. He supposed he was tired too; his heart was thrumming like he'd just run a mile. He closed his eyes and focused on his brother's breathing, then his scent as he drifted off into sleep. 

They awoke just thirty minutes later when their little brother rapidly entered and exited the room, announcing that dinner was ready with a loud shout and slam of the door behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEYYYYY Y'ALL so here's the draft scraps of what was gonna be more chapters of this fic but I'm never gonna finish bc I ...... don't ship it anymore really........ but I thought better to just put it out there for the people who read it and liked it rather than have it sit unread for eternity. So this is literally super super rough just actual scraps. The further stuff is more structured with some holes in it but anyway. Enjoy!

In some cruel twist of fate, Bård couldn't sleep to save his life. Worse yet, he was trapped in the backseat of a cramped sedan. His father in front of him pushed his seat so far back that Bård had to curl his legs into his torso. His little brother wedged beside him played a portable video game, so engrossed that his elbows poked into Bård's side when he furiously tapped on the buttons, driving Bård harder and harder against the door of the car. The actual worst part was that his older brother who was supposed to keep him company during the grueling journey was fast asleep on the other side of the car. They had promised to play a prank on Bjarte--something involving making chirps that they would pretend not to hear--but that was impossible now considering Vegard's vocal chords were occupied making small noises in his sleep. _It's better than snoring at least_ , Bård thought. If he were in a better mood, Bård would be memorizing the sounds to mock Vegard with later. For now he settled on looking out the window, watching the tall green pines whiz by. He'd like to roll down the window, stick his head out and feel his face pelted with the sting of winter wind. Maybe it would even wake Vegard up. But his mother would kill him, surely, or assign him some torturous chore once they arrived at the cabin.

At 18, Bård wondered how many times he'd actually do this again. His whole family packed in a car, driving into the forest to the cozy abode tucked away in the hills. Growing up he'd hated it, as it meant no access to his computer games, freedom to use the phone, or watch TV. And he had to share a room with Vegard. In later years he grew to appreciate the close quarters, the wide open deck, and the strange acoustics that the forest provided when strumming a guitar into surrounding silence. Vegard was 21 and had his own apartment. He whined about having to come along for weeks. Bård told him to suck it up, it would be fun. They'd play music, board games, harrass their younger brother, the usual. Bård wondered what Vegard would rather be doing, what facet of adult life was so alluring that it kept him from wanting to spend time where they'd shared their fondest memories.      

 

 

 

a traditional sleep over scenario at the cabin where truth or dare is involved... or rather truth or truth... and they teeter on dangerous feelings territory?

sharing a room, no one else around except their family members, which forces them together more than they already are. dead of the night, they don’t actually have to look in each other’s eyes when speaking because it’s dark - but they stare intently into the shadowed outlines of the other’s face anyway, trying to see anything and everything they can - pick up anything from expressions. Settling down closer to each other than they would if there were light because they can’t assess how far into each other’s personal space they’ve acutally invaded; they just go off of what feels right in the moment. which happens to mean legs pressed up next to each other under the duvet, curling into their bodies, so there’s a small O formed between their torsos. their hands rest on the mattress in that space, brushing accidentally a few times. they quickly back off maybe the first 3 or 4 times it happens, but eventually one of them just leaves there hands there, accepting the brushing from gesticulation. and maybe since they’re so tired the other decides he’ll just leave his hands where they are when his knuckles brush against his brother’s.......

 

(then there's the possibility for the questions in both of their minds of 'is this weird, does he think this is weird, did he do that on purpose etc)

 

 

Vegard mocks him, "you realize your speaker could be a guy, have you thought of that?"

"I have."

Vegard gets awkward, not expecting bård to confirm like that. bård muses that he's considered the possibility and has rather open feelings about it. 

 

He loved the way his words sounded coming out of Vegard's mouth.

 

 

decide maybe that they're going to live together once bård graduates? 

heater is broken so it's freezing in their room at night, mom tells them jokingly to huddle together for warmth. they plan to move into separate beds before they go to sleep but they accidentally fall asleep together. mom comes in in the morning to wake them up and laughs, says she didn't think they'd actually take her advice. they're both embarrassed, get up to get breakfast while both are excited to spend time together  


	4. Chapter 4

He figured out when he was 20 who he was waiting for his Speaker to be. It wasn't a sudden realization, it took time. Over the course of a three-month rehearsal for a stage show, Bård became aware that the tingly, elated feeling in his chest was a direct result of constant close contact with his brother. It took another three weeks before he acknowledged that the happiness wasn't platonic. When he clasped his brother's hand and spun him close to his chest in a ridiculous tango number--something that should have made him laugh--he instead got sweaty palms, heart palpitations. He felt truly absurd. And what was more absurd was how little he was shocked by the epiphany once it finally sunk in. It was his own brother, he should be disgusted at even the insinuation of them together. He wasn't. It wasn't some intruding, sick thought that plagued him in the middle of the night. It was more as if he finally learned there was a term for something he'd experienced his whole life, like someone realizing they were colorblind. He wouldn't go so far as to say it was comforting--because it wasn't, it was its own little form of torture--but at least he didn't feel like he was constantly searching for a word on the tip of his tongue when his brother looked at him or laughed. 

But it didn't matter, because Vegard had already uttered his first words to Bård years and years ago. He didn't know why he kept waiting. At 25 Bård still didn't know, but he waited anyway. His brother greeted him in hotel lobbies every morning as they traveled across the country and he waited each time to hear him say his words: "Hello, Bård."

He never did. It was always _hey_ , or more often just a nod in his direction before launching into conversation. He told himself that he had to stop doing it. Disappointment was a bad way to start one's day. Everyday. For the rest of his life. 

They had a word for people like Bård, they called them "twisters." People who tried to bend and twist fate to their will, who purposely tried to get the objects of their desire to say their words, or at least prolong the inevitable by preventing people from saying their words to them. There was a period in Bård's early twenties where he actively avoided meeting anyone, but the recluse lifestyle didn't suit him. He got depressed in isolation, and just promised himself to be more careful. But the joke about twisters was their transparency. You could usually spot one by the comical expression they'd make if someone they _did not want_ said their words. Bård thought he was better than that, craftier. He spent five years pressing down his gut feelings and plastering sweet smiles on his mouth whenever someone greeted him.

He dated a few people in that time, never long enough to necessitate sharing words with one another. But he found the whole thing kind of stupid, getting on with someone that had an expiration date. He usually couldn't keep up the charade for more than six months. One of his girlfriends had been extremely upset when he broke it off, convinced she had said his words to him when they met. He knew she hadn't, and wondered when she had even seen them. He definitely never told her. He asked her, incredulously, as she cried and clung to his arm, if he had even said her words when they met. Surely she would remember? She responded in a weak voice, wiping at her running mascara, "You might have." He realized then the absurdity of twisters, the masochistic effort it was to try and change truth. He stopped seeing people after that. It was too messy, and too foolish.   

In a good way his new job didn't allow him the luxury to avoid others. He met new people every single day. Strange, bizarre people that he never worried about being his Speaker, but helped him smooth out any remaining wrinkles in his facade. After a while it was easy, and sometimes he barely noticed if someone said his words. 

At some point he started to notice Vegard noticing. He'd catch his eyes, waiting in expectancy as someone would speak their first words to Bård in introduction. If they said his words, which a few times they did, his brother would pause, dart his eyes to Bård's face, and look away. He didn't know what reaction Vegard expected him to have. This was something that happened to him. It was a consistency in his life to wonder if any and every person he encountered could be the love of his life. He knew how to conceal his recognition, hide the sinking feeling at the pit of his stomach. Vegard didn't have to worry for him. He was done twisting. It only occurred to him three months later that maybe Vegard's reactions were a form of twisting _for_ him.

 

"What was the first thing you ever said to me?" Bård didn't even look at Vegard when he asked, supplying the pretense that the question was innocent. They both knew better.  

Vegard's eyes widened, and he sputtered out a "Huh?" without thought.

"Do you remember at all?" Bård darted his eyes up from his laptop on the table and over to Vegard on his couch. They were at Vegard's apartment, working on a script over dinner. Empty white containers of chinese littered the tabletop while Vegard set his coke down on the coffee table across from the sofa. Bård took in his expression, which his brother tried in vain to suppress. 

"Uh, no," he coughed. "I don't think so."

Bård hummed, looking back at his laptop screen. From his peripheral vision he saw Vegard fidgeting on the couch cushion, adjusting his position. Bård liked it better this way, living apart. It was starting to drive him crazy when he spent all day with his brother at work and then came home to another twelve hours of frustrating separation in the proximity. More space was the answer. 

Bård typed out words on his keyboard, knowing how his nonchalance was likely driving his brother crazy. After only four seconds of silence, Vegard asked in a falsely calm voice, "Why do you ask?"

Bård shrugged without looking up. "Just wondering."

"Wondering what?"

Bård looked up, tapping the pencil in his hand against his lips. "About my words." He swore he could hear the intake of breath from across the room. "You know, the first things people say to me. It's like with little kids, adults always remember their children's first words, but no one remembers the first thing their parents say to them."

"Oh," Vegard said. He swallowed, looking over to the TV across from the couch. "Yeah, I guess so. I hadn't really thought about it."

"That's what I mean," Bård pressed. "You can't even remember the first thing you said to me." When he gazed over his screen to Vegard, he was looking down, doing a bad job of hiding his discomfort.

"Sorry..."

"It's fine," Bård said, shutting his laptop. He 

 

 

It ached. Every night out was a cruel prank he pulled on himself. Tricking his brain into thinking he could forget about the loneliness he felt beside his brother, but the sweating crowds only served to accentuate what real distance was. His brother was never there. Instead there were land mines every three feet, some new person that could ruin his whole life and self-determined ideas of what he wanted by being the perfect thing. He didn't want the perfect person. He wanted his flawed, fucked up, star-crossed romance and he was willing to die half alone if that was what it took to keep Vegard at his side. He'd do it. He'd let his words go. He'd twist so hard that the fabric of the universe would bend and snap in fucking half if it had to. 

But then he remembered love like that required consent. Something he was highly iffy on. A flurry of angry thoughts determined that the best way to test this--end all be all--was to call his brother right then. If Vegard missed him, it meant he was in. If he wasn't jealous, didn't hurt, if he felt fine, then he was out. The logic was sound, to his whiskey-addled brain. He put the phone to his ear and his heart picked up its pace with every ring. There were six, before a click and his brother's soft voice came over the line.

"Hello?" 

"Vegard--" he started, but the loud sigh on the other side cut him off.

"Fucking hell, Bård. What? What do you want from me now."

His chest felt like a balloon deflating.

"Can you pick me up?"

"Now?!" Vegard's tone was incredulous, but he already knew the answer. The rest of the conversation would be to convey his displeasure at the request.

"Yeah..." Bård wanted to take it back, to tell his brother nevermind, but it would only make him angrier to know he had woken him for nothing. "I'm sorry," he added.

"Where are you?" Vegard asked, disregarding the apology.

"I'm at the center."

"And you can't get a cab because...?"

"I--" It was all falling apart. He had his answer. It was simple. "I was feeling sick, and--"

"Whatever, you already fucking woke me up. Just be ready when I call you."

"Ok, thank you. I'm sorry..." The line had gone dead. He leaned his back against the wall and pocketed his phone. He stared into the crowd, focusing on the myriad of faces, all lost in a trance of alcohol and rhythm. The masses, who waited patiently, who did as fate told. Why would his brother love him? Why would he ever think a thing like that? His brother wasn't doomed to the same fate; he was free. And Bård wasn't someone to wait for anyway. He knew his brother. Even if he did love him--which he didn't--the logical analysis of their situation didn't add up in their favor. The risk/reward margin was skewed too far for it to make any sense. Pursuing one's brother never made sense anyway. It was stupid. Bård was stupid. He clenched his fist around his phone when it vibrated with his brother's call twenty minutes later. He didn't pick up, just walked out into the night air and threw himself into his brother's passenger seat. He tried not to look at him. He didn't want to see the inevitable anger and disappointment on his face.

 

 

there's the fact that they've danced together hundreds of times, and in one way are all too comfortabe with touching one another. they know in an incredibly familiar way how the other's hands feel in their own, the weight of the other's body and what it feels like in their muscles to make the other spin


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was supposed to be more after this... Like they decide to just say fuck it & hook up and then later they find maybe an old video of Vegard meeting Bård for the first time at the hospital and hearing Vegard say his words..... so yeah that's the end of it but all I managed to finish was this angsty shit

V: "Are you twisting?"

B: "Twisting is when you care too much. I don't care at all."

V: "Bullshit."

B: "What? I don't."

V: "I don't believe you."

B: "Why not?"

V: "Because it's all you used to care about. You never shut up about your words and your speaker when you were a kid. And what, now that's just gone?"

B: "I grew up, Vegard."

V: "Exactly. So if anything, you should be taking them more seriously. She could be it. She could be ..." "...you know."

B: "What? My speaker? Who cares. If she is, then it'll work itself out on its own."

V: "Not necessarily, Bård."

B: "Then so be it. I'm not going to waste my time chasing some girl I don't even like just because she said fucking hello to me."

V: "You don't like her?"

B: "No."

V: "Okay. Fine." [...] "I'm just worried you might let this opportunity pass and--"

B: "Well stop worrying, alright?" "What happened to you? How did you become the one concerned with this? What happened to 'fuck fate' and all that?"

V: "I just want you to be happy, Bård."

B: "I am happy. I like my life."

V: "You like living and working with your brother, being with me constantly?"

B: "Yes." Vegard shakes his head or something. "This is what makes me happy."

V: "You could be happier."

B: "Only I get to decide that, ok? Don't pull this shit with me. I make my own choices. I want to be here. That's it."

V: "People talk about us, you know."

B: [Bård confused] "What does that--"

V: "They say I'm stopping you from meeting your speaker. That I'm twisting for you, or something."

B: "That's fucking ridiculous."

V: "Maybe I am, Bård." "We never leave each other. How are you supposed to meet your speaker if I'm tagging along all the time, distracting you?"

B: "I don't want you to leave. It's a two-way street, Vegard. It doesn't matter whether you're there or not there if I'm not bothering to listen."

V: "So you are twisting then."

B: "I'm not. Twisting. I just--" "I don't care. I don't want to care. Stop trying to make me."

V: "I never had this opportunity, Bård. I'll never be sure; I might as well not even have a speaker. And no one can be sure about me. I acted like it didn't matter for a long time but it weighs you down. Eventually everyone grows up and pairs off and then it's just you. I don't want you to go through that. I don't want you to be alone."

B: "I'm not alone. I'm with you."

V: "It's not the same."

B: "It could be." pregnant pause, daring each other to continue what they both know they mean but have always been too scared to talk about out loud. bård's heart hammering loudly in his ears. "do you remember your first words to me?"

vegard silent, staring his brother down.

B: "do you?"

V: "Bård, don't."

B: "Do you remember?"

V: "No."

B: "You don't remember or you won't tell me? Be honest."

V: Vegard gulps, he's sad and trying to flee.

B: "I don't remember."

Bård knows what him saying that means, it's its own small rejection. his way of saying no, we won't go there. doesn't matter what we feel.

 

maybe the next day?? or just much later, the concluding sentence before they drop the subject (until the final chapter)

B: "If you could twist so your words were anything you wanted them to be, what would they say?"

V: "it doesn't matter what I want." he says it on auto-pilot and it brings a finality to the matter. says with subtlety that he does want bård but he won't indulge either of them. 


End file.
